Marmora; for a powerful French squadron, without weakening the force that held the Austrians under the guns at Pola and Trieste, had arrived to join hands with the former traditional enemy and now close ally of France; while in the Black Sea the Russians were making their presence felt upon the Turkish littoral of that inland sea.

The Ottoman Empire, tottering after the last disastrous Balkan War, was on the point of committing national suicide under the patronage of its bombastic German tutors.

On the ninth day after leaving Portsmouth the Hammerer was in the vicinity of Cape Matapan. She was bowling along at a modest sixteen knots, a rate that, considering the condition of her engines, reflected great credit upon the "black squad" and the engine-room staff.

It was two bells in the first dog watch. Dick Crosthwaite, who was on duty on the fore-bridge, was talking with the officer of the watch when a sail was reported astern.

Bringing the glasses to bear upon the vessel, both officers found that only her masts and funnels showed above the horizon. There was something unfamiliar about the appearance of the masts, for one was a tripod, the other one of the ordinary pre-Dreadnought type. The only battleships that sported this combination were the Lord Nelson and Agamemnon—and their position was known to an almost absolute certainty—and the newly-completed Queen Elizabeth.

"Strange," remarked Bourne, the officer of the watch. "I'd almost bet my bottom dollar that's the Queen Bess but for two reasons: first, she's not ready for sea; secondly, she's too powerful a ship to send out here while there's an impending job for her in the North Sea."

"She's coming on at a tremendous rate," observed Dick.

For several minutes the identity of the overtaking craft remained unknown; for, acting upon definite instructions, owing to the "tapping" of important messages by the enemy, the use of wireless had been almost entirely dispensed with during the voyage.

"Telephone to the fire-control platform, Mr. Crosthwaite," ordered Bourne. "Ask them what they make of yonder craft. Stay! Send one of the midshipmen—Maynebrace; he looks as if a little exercise would do him good."

Midshipman Maynebrace needed no spur. In a very few moments he had made his way to the foremast and was climbing the dizzy height by means of the iron rungs that, riveted to the lofty steel cylinder, formed the only means of personal communication with the fire-control platform. The interior of the Hammerer's hollow masts, which were originally fitted with lifts to convey the ammunition to the now discarded quick-firing guns in the fighting-tops, were now utilized for the numerous wires and voice-tubes communicating with the various parts of the ship.

Up through the lower top and upwards again the midshipman climbed with the dexterity acquired by long practice, never halting till he disappeared from view inside the elongated steel-plated box known as the fire-control platform.

Down again, seemingly at the imminent risk of breaking his neck, young Maynebrace made his way; then, cool and collected in spite of his exercise, he saluted the officer of the watch.

"It's the Lizzie, sir," he reported, using the abbreviated name by which the British seamen already knew the wonder ship of the year—the super-Dreadnought, Queen Elisabeth.

"By all the powers!" ejaculated Bourne. "This takes the proverbial biscuit. That's a nasty slight upon poor old Tirpitz: sending our last word in battleships to the Dardanelles."

"I pity the Turks, sir, when the Lizzie begins to tickle them up with her fifteen-inchers," said Maynebrace. "There'll be a few people surprised, not only out here but at home."

So well had the Admiralty plans been kept a secret that, until the Hammerer's ship's company saw the super-Dreadnought almost within the limits of the Ægean Sea, the Queen Elizabeth's presence was totally unexpected. The mere fact of her being sent out to the Near East indicated the gigantic task before the Allies: the forcing at all costs the hitherto supposedly impregnable defences of the Dardanelles.

Majestic in her business-like garb of grey, and with her eight monster 15-inch guns showing conspicuously against the skyline, the Queen Elizabeth overhauled and passed her older consort as easily as an express overtakes a suburban train.

For five minutes the "bunting tossers" on both ships were busily engaged; then, amid the outspoken and admiring criticism of the Hammerer's crew, the super-Dreadnought slipped easily ahead and was soon hull down.

Twelve hours later the Hammerer dropped anchor at the rendezvous off Tenedos. She was but one among many, for the Anglo-French fleet numbered nearly a hundred of various sizes—from the Queen Elizabeth of 27,500 tons down to the long, lean destroyers. In addition there were numerous trawlers—vessels that a few weeks previously had been at work off the coasts of Great Britain. Now, under conditions of absolute secrecy, these small but weatherly craft had risked the danger of a passage across the Bay in the early spring, had braved the "levanters" of the Mediterranean, and had assembled to do their important but frequently underrated work of clearing the mines to allow the advance of the battleships to within effective range of the hostile batteries.

Next morning, according to time-honoured custom, the Hammerer's crew assembled on the quarter-deck for prayers. It was a fitting prelude to the work in hand, for orders had been issued from the flagship for the fleet to go into action.

A bell tolled. To the signal yard-arm rose the "Church pennant": red, white, and blue, with a St. George's Cross on the "fly" or outer half. As the crew trooped aft, each man decorously saluted the quarter-deck and fell in; seamen, stokers, and marines forming three sides of a square, with the officers in the centre, while the "defaulters", few in number, were mustered separately under the eagle eye of the ship's police.

In ten minutes the solemn function was over. The Chaplain disappeared down the companion; the Captain gave the stereotyped order "Carry on"; the Commander, taking his cue, gave the word "pipe down", and the scene of devotion gave place to the grim preparation for "Action".

Stanchions, rails, ventilators, anchor-davits disappeared as if by magic. Hatches and skylights were battened down and secured by steel coverings, and everything liable to interfere with the training of the guns was either ruthlessly thrown overboard or stowed out of sight. Hoses were coupled up, ready to combat the dreaded result of any shell that might "get home" and cause fire on board. All superfluous gear aloft was sent below; shrouds were frapped to resist shell-fire, and the fore-top-mast was housed. The main-topmast, since it supported the wireless aerials, had perforce to remain. In less than an hour the crew, each man working with a set purpose, had transformed the Hammerer into a gaunt [Transcriber's note: giant?] floating battery.

Dick Crosthwaite's action station was in the for'ard port 6-inch casemate, an armoured box containing one of the secondary battery guns, capable of being trained nearly right ahead, and through an arc of 135 degrees to a point well abaft the beam.

The major portion of the casemate was taken up by the gun and its mountings, while a little to the rear of the weapon, and protected by a canvas screen, was the ammunition hoist, by which projectiles weighing 100 pounds each were sent up from the fore magazine. Around the walls were the voice tubes communicating with the conning-tower, the magazine, and other portions of the ship, while in addition was a bewildering array of switches and cased wires in connection with the lighting of the casemate and the firing mechanism of the gun. Buckets of water, for use in case of a conflagration, stood on the floor in close company with a tub full of